


London's Calling

by EyesLikeStorms



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M, Gossip Girl - Freeform, Gossip Girl show, Post Finale, Pre-Chair Child, dair - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesLikeStorms/pseuds/EyesLikeStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25-year old twice divorcee and disillusioned Blair Waldorf left New York City behind for a new life in London -- and a shot at redemption for her painful, turbulent past. But her blissful solitary existence abroad is interrupted by an unexpected visitor from her old life, who is looking for a new start of his own. </p><p>[Takes place after the Chair finale wedding, but pre-Chair child.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hyperdulia

Blair Waldorf walked out of cathedral into the autumnal London rain, feeling considerably lighter in spirit. She buttoned her navy Burberry trench coat and reveled in the cold, grinning as the drizzle fell on her face. She pulled her gray knit cap out of the pocket and over her damp, tousled damp hair as she headed toward a cafe, her heeled boots making a satisfying  _ tap _ against the wet sidewalk. 

This was her new Sunday tradition — mass, confession, and coffee; sometimes a stop at the bookstore or one of London’s many art museums for good measure. It was the fourth week in a row she had attended confessional; she remembered reading in a magazine that it took 21 days to form a habit, but she figured four consecutive weeks in a month was close enough. 

She’d always been drawn toward church — the beauty of it, the history — but never really felt a need for it beyond the aesthetics. No one in her family was openly religious, except for an aunt on her father’s side who was a Catholic and lived in Rome to be near the Pope. And after her summer in Rome, Blair, too, had felt the call of the Holy Spirit.

At least God would never abandon her, she figured.

Blair had been baptized as a child — purely out of familial tradition — and attended church with her parents on Easter and Christmas. She’d been to confession before, on occasions she had done something especially cringeworthy, but it never gave her peace. She had prayed to God, made deals with Him, to placate silly, stupid whims.

But she didn’t know the church’s healing power until recently, when her life completely unraveled. 

Until Chuck Bass left her, and with his absence, took the last of her resolve to cling to her old life and the people she thought she loved. 

At long last, Blair Waldorf had truly hit rock bottom. Upon reflection, Blair realized that all the pain she had ever endured was at her own hand. She had been self-sabotaging as long as she could remember. 

Sacrifice was in her nature. She was well suited for Catholicism. But it was the guilt she didn’t expect that plagued her upon introspection; the guilt she now felt in full-force at the lives, friendships, romances she had single-handedly destroyed in fits of selfishness and jealousy.

At 25 years old, Blair had made a mess of her privileged life. She’d been married twice, divorced twice, gotten pregnant, lost the baby while running off with another man, inherited a company, and then abandoned it, estranging her mother in the process. She had lost track of all the lives she ruined, the hearts she’d broken and the ones she’d been broken by. 

Blair knew she deserved every ounce of unhappiness she had ever experienced, and was ready to pay penance for it. She decided this while on lying on the floor of her bathroom, covered in tears and a broken wine glass on the night Chuck left for Hong Kong, another woman on his arm, and with the realization came an all-encompassing sense of peace.

The only thing of worth she had gained in the last 10 years of her life was her Columbia degree, which she had miraculously finished despite the incessant parade of drama in her life, and a year later than she had intended, but with grades good enough (and a few well-pulled strings) to warrant acceptance into the Cambridge’s art history graduate program. 

She had cashed in a favor with a designer at Burberry, landed a position in their creative department at their London HQ, and left NYC alone with nothing but a suitcase in hand.

It was one of the most liberating things she’d ever done, and on the plane ride over, she searched on her phone for the most spectacular church in London.

So the first thing she did when she got to London was visit The Oratory, which she fell in love with immediately. The music, the scents, and the sermons filled her soul with something satiating, and it didn’t hurt that the building itself was gorgeous and ornate. She might have new priorities these days on her path to repentance, but spending her time surrounded by beautiful places and things would always be ingrained into her personal philosophy. 

After all, gold had just one more letter than “God.” 

So Blair Waldorf was a certified Catholic now and embracing it with all of her being. She took to wearing a simple diamond cross necklace and carrying a small, gilded Bible in her Alexander McQueen tote (aptly called the “Heroine” bag, from their fall 2015 collection). She was a creature of habit, a loyal traditionalist, and a devotee of wise women throughout history. Her new goal was to embody a pious, suffering woman. Every day she would face her pain. She would fashion a life after the Virgin Mary herself.

And the best part was that no one lingered outside the church to take her picture, or tracked her activity on the London Underground, and plastered it all over the internet for the entire world to see. In London, she was still Blair Waldorf, but nobody cared.

And Blair was learning how wonderful it felt to be a nobody.


	2. The Writer from NYC

By train, the University of Cambridge was about an hour and a half from London, and each Wednesday, Blair took the train into the city. She scheduled her courses for Monday and Tuesday — three in total, par for grad students — and was also enrolled in an independent study course, for which she could research a topic of her choosing to put toward her thesis. This gave her most of the week to spend at her Burberry office, as assistant creative director for editorial, and to do what she pleased on the weekend in the city. 

Blair adored London, and the sophistication of it, but was learning to also love the grittiness — something she normally hated in New York, but in London, it was just another layer of history. One street would feature an ancient ruin; and next to it, a building from the 1800s; and next to that, in-progress construction covered in hipster graffiti. Every part of the city emanated with a merging of the past and present. London was a city of the future with a past seeped in war and trauma.

And for Blair, it represented the ability to still be beautiful and strong despite an imperfect past. 

But yet, she also enjoyed her weekly trek back to Cambridge. The university town was smaller, the smallest place Blair had technically ever lived in, but she appreciated the serenity of it and the collegiate hustle and bustle. There was an inspiring energy of research that felt progressive and rejuvenating, like people were working toward something _important_. 

She reached Cambridge in the early evening, and took a cab to campus, her travel bag in hand. Glancing at her watch, Blair estimated the time it would take her to wrap up a paper for her architecture class, which was due on Tuesday. A couple hours to complete her research and add her conclusion should do it, she figured, and she could grab some dinner near her apartment. 

But first, she had a book on reserve to pick up from special collections, so she made her way toward the university’s central library.

She walked into the building to find a queue forming; odd for a Sunday evening. Standing on her tip-toes, she tried to see what was causing the hold-up.

She spotted Noelle, a fellow brunette American student from her Qualitative Research class and a grad student in English. She was one of few acquaintances Blair had made in London; Noelle was from Berkeley, but prefered the sounds of Tchaikovsky to Telegraph. They typically exchanged pleasantries about current art exhibits before their weekly class. Blair was learning that it paid to just be nice to someone, for once.

Noelle turned to greet her as she approached.

“Hey, girl!” she said, grinning. “You look refreshed. Good time in London?”

“As always,” Blair responded. “What’s the queue for?”

“The new writers arrived, for the department residency, and one of them is here to meet everyone,” said Noelle. “They’ll be here for a year! There’s a poet from China — she’s amazing, and she’s giving a talk tonight, if you want to go — and a writer from New York. Apparently he’s pretty famous but I’m not too familiar with his work.”

Blair got the same sinking feeling in her stomach that she felt every time she heard “New York” brought up in conversation. It was hard to avoid hearing it, given it’s reputation as one of the best cities in the world, but to her it was her hometown, and now the name just flooded with her with bad memories. Per usual, she preferred to not expose herself to things that triggered a resurgence of pain and doubt. She wanted almost nothing to do with what she now thought of as her “former life.”

The crowd began to disperse, and Noelle pulled Blair forward to greet the writer. 

But Blair stopped in her tracks when she realized it was _Daniel Humphrey_. 

He turned as she approached, and met her eye, looking equally as surprised as she felt.

“Humphrey!” she exclaimed, then turned on her heel and ran.


	3. Man Bun

She just made it out of the front doors and back into the brisk air when she felt a hand on her arm. She spun around, thinking it was Noelle who had followed her out, but it was none other than Dan Humphrey, in the flesh.

“Hello to you too, Blair,” said Dan, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you just ran away from me just now instead of greeting me like a normal human being?”

Blair, still at a loss for words, felt her face turn hot. She thrust her hands in her pockets, her fingers identifying a pair of wool gloves. Her brain worked quickly; it’d been at least a year since she last saw Dan, not long after her and Chuck’s wedding, and he looked different now, with a 5 o’clock shadow, his hair long and pulled away from his face.

“I had to escape immediately from the sight of that _man bun_ ,” Blair said sarcastically, recovering her dignity. She adjusted the strap of her travel bag on her shoulder.

At her comment, Dan laughed. “It was Serena’s idea, actually,” he said, suddenly looking sheepish.

_Oh god_. Serena! Historically, Serena’s presence in her life had made it awfully hard for Blair to achieve any sort of new start. And it’d been such a good few months, too, when Blair had been on her own, away from everyone on the upper east side. 

And the last conversation she had with Serena still stung. And she didn’t want to think about it — how Serena, supposedly her best friend, had neglected to tell her about Chuck’s highly public affair with his assistant, just months after their wedding. And then Serena has defended him, subsequently blaming Blair for the problem in the first place.

_ You’ve always been uptight, B. Did you think that you would be enough for Chuck, forever? It’s in his nature, just like being controlling is in yours.  _

Blair, already devastated by Chuck’s betrayal, felt it tenfold at Serena’s comments. It was one of many conversations that solidified Blair’s desire to close her heart from everyone and never let anyone else in ever again. Love was useless, and painful, and in her experience, had never, ever been worth any of it.

So she wasn’t exactly keen to deal with Serena Van Der Woodsen.

She decided to play dumb, although she suspected Dan would see through it. Her voice had a habit of raising a few octaves when she was feigning interest, or lying. 

“Oh, is Serena here too?” she asked. She was sure that Serena knew that she had moved to London.

Dan looked down at his shoes, hands in his pocket. “Uh, no, she’s in India, actually. On a yoga retreat.”

Blair tried not to look too relieved, but a sigh emerged anyway. “Why am I not surprised?” She forced a smile, and busied herself with pulling the wool gloves onto her hands, even though she was sweating. She needed to get out of there, fast. She’d get her book tomorrow. “Well, I have to run, but be sure to tell Serena I said hi!”

Dan twisted his mouth. “That might be hard to do, seeing as I haven’t spoken to her in two months.”

Blair wasn’t expecting this. She felt her curiosity piqued, despite herself. How easy it  would be to get sucked back into her old life, the drama. 

_ NO. Absolutely not. Don’t do it, Waldorf. You’ve come so far. Let Humphrey deal with his own issues. You have enough of your own to deal with. _

“I’m sure she’ll come around! You know how Serena is!” Blair cringed at her own forced optimism. 

“I’m not so sure this time,” Dan said, looking downcast, pushing a rogue curl away from his face. Blair had seen that look many times before. She had once caused it. 

Dan was studying her face. “Hey, are you busy? Do you want to grab dinner?”

“I can’t tonight,” Blair said quickly, although a ‘yes’ hadn’t been far from her tongue. “Paper to finish. I just got back from London.”

Dan looked disappointed, but nodded. Blair turned to leave, but he spoke again. “Hey, Blair — you look good. It’s good to see you.”

She could tell that he meant it, and a genuine smile crept onto her face involuntarily. He smiled back.

Once she was out of sight, Blair was disturbed to realize that she felt the same in return.


	4. Kitten Comfort

Blair’s Cambridge apartment was her oasis. Although it wasn’t as big as the penthouse she’d grown up in, it was no less luxurious, and just a couple streets from campus. And it was just slightly larger than her chic London loft. Her apartment had exposed wood beams and a large stone fireplace. She had furnished the whole place with candles, fur blankets and Restoration Hardware couches and chairs. On the walls hung prints of pre-Raphaelite paintings in gilded frames. It felt quintessentially London. But most of all she loved the small, decadent marble kitchen — even though she’d never learned how to cook or bake, other than her dad’s beloved Thanksgiving pie. Despite her lack of cooking ability, she enjoyed her morning cup of tea at the stone-topped island, and even though she had a desk set up by the window, found that she enjoyed working on her assignments more at the kitchen counter.

She loved living alone, more than she thought she ever would, although she had adopted a fluffy gray kitten she named Sofie. That was all the company she needed, even though sometimes she missed Dorota. The cleaning woman who came by twice a week just wasn’t the same.

Blair was especially happy to see her apartment after her chance encounter with Dan Humphrey. The meeting had made her frazzled, and she felt off-balance and panicky. She tore off her jacket as soon as she came through the door, slamming it behind her and leaving her outerwear on the floor.  

Sofie came prancing up to her once she walked in, and she scooped the kitten up, smothering her with kisses. Emily, a teenager from upstairs, checked on Sofie when Blair was in London, but Blair knew that the kitten preferred her presence, and she was grateful that there was at least _one_  living creature who did. The kitten’s tiny purrs instantly eased her anxiety, but Blair’s mind was racing. 

She was a bundle of nerves, and she was angry that she let Dan’s presence affect her so profoundly. She reasoned that it was the intrusion of someone from her “old life,” as she thought of it now. After Chuck had taken off to Hong Kong in February — right before Valentine’s Day, Blair remembered with a painful seize of her chest — Blair had moved in with her aunt in Rome, and then relocated to England in August. In those months, she hadn’t seen anyone from New York other than her father, when she’d visited him in France for a week (and bonded with his cat, Cat, which made her want her own).

She’d left things in a bad place with her mother, and had been resolute in her desire to break things off with Serena. And with her mom, Serena and Chuck out of her life, she felt little connection to anyone else.

But Dan had a complicated role in her life. He was someone she had bonded to deeply, befriended and then briefly loved right smack in the middle of utter chaos. But he had broken her heart more than she had ever admitted to even herself when he wanted more from her than she was ready to give. After it ended, she thought their connection was lost forever. It had to be, for her and Chuck to make it work for real. And Dan ran back to Serena, and Blair knew that was how everything was supposed to be.

Well, none of that had worked out at all, had it? For her, and for Dan, it seems. Could they be friends again? Blair knew that opening her life to Dan — just for friendship; she’d sworn off love for a long, long, long time — would open wounds.

She chewed on her lip. No, it’d be better for her if she didn’t see him or contact him. She’d made so much progress.

She busied herself with changing out of her travel clothes and into her most comfortable thermal shirt and silk pajamas. She  _ had _ to get this paper done for class tomorrow. Yes, that decision felt good — to have a purpose and something to do so she wouldn’t consume herself over her turbulent feelings at seeing Dan Humphrey again.

Blair perched herself on a stool at her counter, Mac laptop open in front of her, and delved into the rest of her essay. Sofie nestled herself on Blair's shoulder. An hour passed in silence, the only noise consisting of Sofie’s content mews and the taps of Blair’s nails on the keyboard, and Blair slipped into the comforting pattern of academic writing, feeling calmer and more focused by the minute. It was dark outside by the time she wrapped up the paper, and she was pleased with her work.

She was checking her citations when she heard a knock on her door.


	5. A whole Eat Pray Love thing

Dan Humphrey stood outside of Blair Waldorf’s door, his hands sweating. 

This was stupid. He should have gotten her phone number instead. What kind of stalker activity was this, showing up at her apartment at night? When she had so clearly indicated that she wasn’t keen on seeing him?

He’d found her address via Instagram. Blair’s acquaintance, Noelle, had been eager to exchange social information with Dan, welcoming him to the college, and he scrolled through her feed, and caught an image of Blair holding a small gray kitten with the caption:  _ B’s new cat! _ The photo was geotagged with her apartment building, and upon arrival, Dan saw “B. W.” on the list of tenants.

Dan knew he was in creeper mode. He hoped that Blair wouldn’t think too much of it; after all, they’d be friends for a long time, and then more than friends, but regardless, they’d known each other for several years at this point. And Blair had been the ultimate sleuth during her many schemes.

And, plain and simple, he needed to see her again. They had been so close, once, and he needed that now. Everyone he loved was gone — Jenny studying abroad in Brazil, his dad touring again, his mom traveling with her new fiance, and Serena engaging in some silent meditation at an Indian ashram. She was on a whole  _ Eat Pray Love _ thing. She had left in late June, citing a need to “find herself.”

Well, she apparently did that — along with a dreadlocked, bearded man who tagged her in a selfie with him on Facebook. Captioned, “Met my dream girl on a train in India. #blessed”

Dan wished he could tell her new dreadlocked lover: “Join the club.”

But Dan was learning that Serena was no longer his dream girl. His values had changed. He thought their spark had been rekindled, and for a few months, it was amazing. But Serena began to get restless. And Jenny was quick to remind Dan that they, in fact, shared a sibling with Serena. As if he could ever forget that. _Nothing ruins the mood faster than incest._

Serena’s leaving and infidelity had stung, but it wasn’t the first time Dan had experienced heartbreak at her hand. And his writing was suffering, so he applied last minute for the Cambridge fellowship, and took his acceptance to it as a sign from the universe. 

It was only on the flight over that he had learned that Blair Waldorf had divorced Charles Bass after six months of marriage, relinquished control of Waldorf Designs and moved to Cambridge for grad school. A small blurb in his newsfeed was to thank for that information. 

Dan couldn’t help feeling like this was a second chance to be friends again with Blair Waldorf. And god knows he had missed it. Despite their off-putting introduction — and several subsequent years of scheming at her hand — Dan had fallen head over heels for her, which ended poorly, but what he missed most was the companionship. There were few people in their inner circle who had as many shared interests and life philosophies as they did. He felt like they were kindred spirits, and was eager to reconnect.

So Dan Humphrey took a deep breath, muttered “Oh, what the hell,” and knocked on her door.


End file.
